Small Town, Big Fair, Durham Gets Ready

Crowds fill the fairgrounds in Durham during the annual four-day event.

Crowds fill the fairgrounds in Durham during the annual four-day event.

(Hartford Courant)

GEORGE DANIELS

I don't know what's going on in your neck of the woods this week, but here in my town we're busy stockpiling essentials, obsessively checking the forecast and preparing to shelter in place.

That's right, we're bracing for the Big One, starting Thursday. The Big One for us being the Durham Fair, or as it's known in my house: The Four-Day Siege.

You might know it as the state's largest agricultural fair and Durham's main claim to fame (unless you count a couple of visits from George Washington, but c'mon, we all know that dude slept around).

It's the event that each fall turns the center of our town into a kind of rural mecca, a Dollywood of the north, with tens of thousands of attendees streaming in from every corner of the state.

Not that there's anything wrong with that. The fair is hugely popular with residents for the same reason it's popular with the hordes it attracts: It's loads of fun.

After 18 years living within spitting distance of the fair, I've learned to enjoy the hubbub. Still, it always strikes me as odd that the thing the fair ostensibly celebrates — small-town New England living — is exactly what gets lost in the shuffle.

With a population of about 7,000, this isn't exactly a one-horse town (though come to think of it, if there are two horses, I've never seen them in the same place at the same time). We do have our centers of activity.

There's what I call Little Italy, otherwise known as Lino's, the local Italian market on the north end of Main Street. Heading south on Main, you'll find the Workout District, which consists of two competing gyms sitting directly across the street from each other.

Otherwise, things are mostly quiet around here — at least until the town starts gearing up for the fair.

The first signs of the transformation are just that — signs. They start popping up weeks in advance to direct fair goers where to park, where not to park and, in case anyone needs reminding, where to yield to pedestrians.

(Pro Tip: Pedestrians have the right of way everywhere, which is precisely where you should expect to find them at all times during the fair.)

It's all pretty low key until the gates open to the public.

That's when the crowds roll in. From my vantage point, it looks like an endless stream of young families maneuvering past each other on the sidewalk, a nonstop stroller derby from morning to night.

(Pro Tip 2: If you're not into crowds, come on a rainy day. Nice days, in my experience, are the worst.)

Then there's the traffic, which on non-fair days involves a lot less braking, honking and regret. During the fair, well, we just don't drive.

(Pro Tip 3: There's plenty of parking on the outskirts of town. Yes, it involves riding in a school bus, but on the plus side, you get to drive your car in a corn field — minus the corn, of course.)

Even when driving is an option, it's not like we can leave the area. Someone's got to keep an eye on the place in case, say, a frustrated driver goes rogue and turns your lawn into his personal parking lot. It happens.

My entrepreneurial neighbors have turned that situation to their advantage by setting up parking concessions just outside the fairgrounds. I, too, used to make a nice chunk of change letting cars park on my lawn.

Did I say cars? Ha. As I recall, it was mostly minivans, SUVs and street-legal monster trucks. In a good year, I'd make just enough to cover the damage inflicted on my lawn. I didn't last long in the parking racket.

Finally, there's the cleanup. I have to say the whole enterprise wraps up surprisingly quickly and neatly. Within 24 hours you'll see little evidence the fair was ever there. Well, except for the discarded cups, bottles and food wrappers you'll be pulling out of your bushes for days.

Don't get me wrong. Despite the minor headaches surrounding it, I still find the fair rather enjoyable and make a point of spending a least one afternoon there, rain or shine. Preferably rain.